DAY 1

When we last checked in on Celia and Remy, they were exchanging hugs and Afrin in a small hostel in Madrid. Celia majorly jet lagged, Remy a little sniffly, but resilient. The first order of business was to get something yummy in their hungry American bellies while heading towards their next destination at the Hostel Alvaro. Together, they rolled their suitcases, backpacks on backs, and started a steady uphill climb to the next hostel in the dry 95 degree Farenheight Madrid heat, stopping only for some freshly squeezed juice and a “panepinno toasta” at a spot on the way.

I wish I could tell you Celia lasted longer, that she defeated jet lag with the strength of someone that had just recently left college so all nighters were no-biggie. But sadly, Celia was three years out, and her frail eyelids could not hold themselves up. After arriving at the private double bunk-bed room, Celia resolved to napping for two hours—NO MORE THAN TWO HOURS. And Remy, well adjusted to the time zone at this point, pledged to wake her my 3 at the latest after she herself had showered and looked into planning the day.